


Adrift

by Splix_Archive (splix)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splix/pseuds/Splix_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-off set in Merry Amelie's "Academic Arcadia" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrift

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Academic Arcadia](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25547) by Merry Amelie. 



> Thanks: to kimberlite and Merry Amelie for the beta; thanks to Merry Amelie for letting me play in her sandbox.

The windshield wipers on Ian's Audi Gallia barely cut through the snow whipping against the glass. Leaning forward, Ian peered into the storm. "Maybe we should have stayed at Kit's after all."

Quinn shot Ian a look of concern. "Do you want me to drive?" They'd spent the evening at a faculty party thrown by Kirit Adimundi, their department chair. Kirit, or Kit, as he was familiarly known, had offered to let Quinn and Ian bunk in a spare bedroom. They had refused politely, citing a long weekend of lecture prepping, and headed out toward the highway for the long drive home. By the time they'd reached the off-ramp, visibility had narrowed to almost zero and Ian had flicked on his high beams.

"No, no, that's okay. This is pretty crazy, that's all. I'm glad I stuck to tea. I can't imagine driving through this on even one glass of wine."

"Is that right?" Quinn teased. "And here I thought you were hoping to impress Kit as a teetotaler. You missed a good Pinot Noir."

"My secret's out. I was just trying to make you look like a lush. How many glasses did you have -- ten?"

"Two, thank you very much!" Quinn laughed. "And two double espressos."

"Some rebel you are," Ian tutted. "You might succeed Kit after all." He reached out and patted Quinn's knee with a grin. Quinn's maverick status at the party was intact following a heated, if friendly, debate on Tolkien's influence on linguistics and science fiction. Without Elvish, Quinn claimed, there would be no 'Hamlet' translated into Klingon, and the wild rumpus, to paraphrase Maurice Sendak, had begun. Who'd have thought, Ian mused, that beneath those placid academic exteriors beat the hearts of hard-core sci-fi geeks?

"It'll never happen," Quinn replied calmly. "Besides, I've never wanted to be an administrator. It's not where my talents lie."

"Good thing you don't make a career employing all your talents. I'd have to take a number," Ian cracked.

"Don't worry. I'll pencil you in for once a week."

"Once a week!" Ian turned his attention from the road to flash Quinn his wide smile. "You've got a lot of --"

"Ian!" Quinn pointed to the window.

Ian returned his focus to the road only to see headlights coming straight toward them. He yanked the wheel to the right, seeing the approaching white hill of a snowbank. Instinctively, he threw his arm across Quinn's chest and took his foot from the gas, bracing for impact. They skidded, then plowed into the bank head-on. The airbags deployed with a noisy hiss, and the engine whined to a stop, then died.

Taking a breath, Ian turned to Quinn. "Quinn. Quinn! You okay? Are you --"

"Fine," Quinn muttered shakily. He grasped Ian's arm. "Are you hurt?"

Ian was white-faced and shivering with tension, but he shook his head. "I'm okay. I'm sorry, I didn't even see --"

"The car was on your side of the road," Quinn said. "It wasn't your fault." He blew out a breath and closed his eyes.

Ian twisted in his seat to gaze out the back window. "The guy didn't even stop!" he said wrathfully. "Idiot."

"At least you weren't going that fast," Quinn soothed him. "I doubt you've even dented the car." He began to press on the airbag, fruitlessly trying to hasten the deflating process.

Ian reached out to grasp Quinn's hand. "You sure you're all right?"

"Fine," Quinn said, brushing a kiss over Ian's mouth. "Thank goodness for airbags."

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Ian's good humor was restored. "Well, let's see what happened." He opened the door, letting in a frigid blast of air, peered out, and ducked back in, pulling the door closed. "Well," he announced, "The hood's buried in the snowbank. I couldn't see if there was any damage." He pushed the airbag back in and turned the key. The engine coughed, groaned, then wheezed to a stop. "What the hell?"

"Try it again," Quinn advised.

Ian did, with no result. "I just had a tune-up last month."

"Give it a minute."

"Okay." He waited, then made another attempt. He changed gears, throwing the car into neutral. Still nothing. "Son of a --"

"Relax. Maybe it's flooded."

"I took my foot off the gas, Quinn."

"Maybe I should get out and push."

"You'd have to stand waist-deep in snow," Ian said. "You'd never have any leverage." He gazed disconsolately at the snowbank and cursed the efficiency of the department of transportation. "Wait a second -- I have towing service on my cell." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. "There's a solution to everything."

Quinn gave him an admiring look. "You were a Boy Scout, right?"

Ian laughed and hit the code for the service. "Hi. This is Ian Prentice, and I'm going to need a tow truck. Yes. Yes, I had an accident. I'm stuck in a snowbank. Snowbank. Where? We're on Tibanna Road a couple of miles east of I-81. Could you -- yes, I'll hold." He sighed. "I'm on hold," he said to Quinn unnecessarily.

Quinn bit back a smile. "So I heard."

"The music's good, though. Devo." Ian bopped his head back and forth, singing. "When a problem comes along, you must whip it -- hello? Sorry."

Quinn couldn't contain his laughter, but he sank his teeth into the heel of his hand to keep quiet.

"Yes. Prentice. P-R-E-N-T-I-C-E. P as in Papa. No, C -- C as in Charlie. Ian. Yes. It's TK-421. Silver Audi Gallia. Yes. Okay. Okay. All right, thank you." He flipped the phone closed and sighed. "Forty-five minutes."

"Well, it's still warm. The lights are on, so the battery's working. We won't freeze to death."

Ian nodded, looking at the snow piling up on the hood. A slow grin appeared on his face. "Quinn," he said, "I think we should try to make the best of a bad situation."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "You've got that look in your eye," he accused.

"Look? I don't have a look." Ian grinned, yawned, and allowed his outstretched hand to rest on Quinn's thigh.

"Yes, you do. It's a twinkle. I think you've practiced."

"Never!" Ian protested, stealthily sliding his hand along Quinn's inner thigh. He traced his fingertips against the rough tweed of Quinn's trousers. "Forty-five minutes is a long time," he remarked idly.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Ian put on an _expression of wounded innocence. "May I ask why not?"

"I'll tell you why not. We're on a public road."

"At two-thirty in the morning in the middle of a snowstorm."

"Still," Quinn faltered, feeling as though he was losing ground. "You don't want to be arrested for indecent behavior, do you?"

"First time for everything," Ian laughed.

Quinn pondered that. The reality of a prison cell was probably quite different from the fantasy. Making a mental note to discuss that at a later date, he tried again. "You do realize that certain acts are logistically impossible in an Audi."

Ian removed his hand from Quinn's thigh and hit a button on the central panel. Quinn's seat slid back into a near-recline with a faint purr. "How's that?"

"You're trying to take advantage of me."

In one smooth motion, Ian swung himself toward Quinn, straddling his thigh. "What a smart fellow you are. I knew you'd put that Ph.D. to good use one day." He placed the palm of his hand upon the bulge in Quinn's trousers.

"This isn't fair," Quinn managed.

"All's fair in love and war," Ian murmured into Quinn's ear, then nipped the earlobe.

"Ian..." Quinn's voice was decidedly strained. "Someone's going to see us."

"We'd better hurry, then." Lazily, Ian ground himself against Quinn's cock, then took Quinn's mouth in a kiss.

Quinn moaned, feeling his arousal hard and insistent against Ian's. He was a goner. Closing his eyes, he let Ian rub, the scratching of wool on tweed strangely loud in the enclosed environment of the Audi. The kiss waxed and waned; Ian's mouth was wet and lush, teasing with light, steady pressure.

"I can taste that Pinot Noir."

"Um," Quinn said. He grasped Ian's bottom and pulled him close, rocking back and forth. "Oh, agh."

Ian slipped deft fingers inside the waistband of Quinn's trousers, tracing warm, bare skin. "Nice." He undid the top button, then moved down. "Buttons! Where'd you get these?"

"Ireland," Quinn croaked. "Ian --" He let out a gasp as Ian pulled the front of his boxers down, releasing his erection. "Ian."

"I like them." Ian unfastened his own trousers and wriggled them to mid-thigh. He peeled down the boxer briefs Quinn liked, then pressed against Quinn, grinding with agonizing slowness. "There..."

It seemed to go on forever, that gentle, maddening rocking, Ian's bare skin hot on Quinn's. The illicit atmosphere, delicious friction, and the sensation of Ian's taut thighs trapping him sent Quinn into a frenzy. He dug his fingers into Ian's hips and surged up, his breath coming in tearing gasps.

Ian wrapped one arm around Quinn's neck and braced himself against the seat with his free hand. He thrust his hips hard, his breath ragged and panting, until he climaxed with a low cry.

Quinn followed, letting out a deep, shuddering breath that became a groan. He buried his face in Ian's neck, inhaling his scent. "That was..."

"Mmhm." Ian collapsed into his own seat, then reached into the back , coming up with a dented box of tissues. He yanked a few out and proceeded to clean himself and Quinn. "Did you get any --"

"No, it's fine." His eyes met Ian's; they both smiled, then started to laugh, finally clinging to one another, weak and spent. Still laughing, they kissed, lingering until the bright splash of headlights spilled into their window.

"Oh, hell," Quinn mumbled, buttoning his trousers. Maybe zippers were a better idea; they were so much faster. He yanked down the thick cream-colored sweater and straightened his wool coat. Peering at his watch, he murmured, "Twenty minutes."

"Yeah, yeah," Ian laughed, hastily pulling himself together. He opened the door and leapt out of the car, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Hey there -- that was fast," he said to the tow truck driver.

"Not real busy tonight, and I was close by. Let's see if we can't pull you out of there and get you going. You wanna get back in?" The driver's tone was surprisingly chipper for the middle of the night.

"Sure -- thanks." Ian got back into the car and let the window down. "Should I steer?"

"Naw -- I'll just pull until we can get inside the hood. Good thing the battery's not dead -- you might have frozen."

Ian looked at the steamy windshield, then at Quinn. He grinned, an entire galaxy of mischief in his smile. "You're right. It was a good thing."

End.


End file.
